


Evoke the Forms

by clowning



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Moving On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 12:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clowning/pseuds/clowning
Summary: They held each other a while longer. Let all the venom bleed out. When there is nothing left, no guiding light, evoke the forms. From ruins and old pains build something new. Nurture it and watch it grow. Anoint it with kiss and gentle touch, this new ceremony, and breathe life upon it.(Yasha cares for Beau as she recovers. They both heal.)





	Evoke the Forms

The late noon light slid in through the window. The curtains were pushed back, letting the light in. Beau lay on the bed, face turned away, shielding her eyes. Her chest, bare save for the sheets, rose and fell in a slow rhythm with a subconscious meditation. She lulled in a half-sleep, the scent of cotton and wood in the room. Pseudo daydreams of glorious victory and the warmth of skin on skin.

If she was completely still and held her eyes closed, she could ignore the phantom pain and loss of weight and strength. The sound of heavy footsteps roused her. Her eyes turned to the nightstand by the bed, wood cut fresh and crafted not long ago. A clay vase of flowers upon it, gladiolus and daisies mismatched but arrayed with utmost care. 

“Are you awake?” A gentle whisper from behind the bedroom door. Beau sighed, already shaking with with craving for the woman behind it. 

Her voice was rough with disuse and sleep. “‘M awake.”

She looked to the door. Closed her eyes once more.

“May I come in?”

“Yeah, come in.”

The hinges creaked as Yasha cracked it open, slow and careful. She peeked in the room before crossing the threshold, taking in the state of the other woman in her bed. Her pale skin glowed in the sunlight as she shed her shawl and draped it over the lounge chair in the corner. 

Her approach was slow, fingers outstretched to caress Beau’s face and brush the hair from her eyes. The large, calloused pads of her fingers hardly felt the sensation as she traced over the stubble of her shaved head. Yasha massaged her skin, coaxing her into a more alert and wanting state. At last, she opened her eyes and peered up at the woman who towered over her.

“Hey, Yasha.”

A sweet smile. A hint of sadness. 

“Hello, Beau.”

Yasha looked pensive for a moment, brows knitted together. She drew a thumb over Beau’s lips. 

“Have you done your exercises today?”

A pointed question. 

Beau turned away. Contact lost.

The strange feeling of déjà vu in the pit of her empty stomach. Memories of cold monks and colder fathers, scolding and chiding her. Every action and choice weighed over her head, consequences for each. 

How much blood has seeped on to training room floors? How much has been spilled and wetted the soils of countless battlefields? How much spat into tavern sinks, smattered on the fists and blades of so many foes?

How much of her is still her father’s, and how much is her own?

There must be some way to rationalize it. Some way to know and measure how much of her remains, and how much is lost to nature, enemies, and the passage of time. 

How much of her can be healed, if at all.

“Come on,” Yasha is soft-spoken, careful, always so careful around her. “Get started, and I’ll have dinner ready when you finish.”

Some sort of laugh twisted its way out of her, wry and raw. Vulnerable. So many things she would have to relearn. Balance, momentum, striking. Compensation for the strength that is lost for good. How to be whole, because she is certain she never was before. A broken, angry, empty, desperate creature.

She made to tear the sheets away. Futile attempt.

Instead, she offered up a scarred stump. Jagged and malformed. Some kind of fleshy club.

Beau gagged. Hot tears pricked at her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Her frame wracked with years of stifled sobs. So little and yet so much lost.

Yasha scooped her up, held her tender in her arms like Beau was something precious and golden. A hand cradled the base of her skull, let her cry her tears into her leathers. She turned, sat upon the edge of the mattress and laid Beau in her lap. A winged beast, possessive and protective, and her treasure hoard.

Her own tears fell to mingle with Beau’s. A lifetime of love, no more. An acceptance of the lesson: to move forward is not to betray. Love is sweet and life is precious. Walk the path. Prove you are able to protect it.

She spoke in celestial. Voice a hymn.

“Oh, Beauregard. It will be okay. We will be.”

Beau had curled into her, hiding her face. Her words were muffled. Trembling.

“I’m not- I can’t… I’m weak! I’m so fucking weak. And now a part of me is gone and the rest of the Nein is gone. I can’t fight.”

“You are alive now. You fought to survive. That is strength.”

The words laid over Beau, seeped into her skin. An old petulance rose up within her. She won’t be anything but what she says she is. A bubbling anger sparked and was quashed. 

Yasha continued, “The Nein isn’t gone.”

“They left me here.”

In spite of the pain, pale lips twitched in a smile. “Is it so bad to be here with me?”

It startled a watery laugh out of Beau, her chest still shaking with the remnants of her sobs. She lifted her head to look at Yasha. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks tearstained. Hair tangled. 

Beautiful. Body a temple and those blue, blue eyes. Good to house angels.

“Fuck you,” said Beau. No real malice. “I love being here with you.”

Yasha threaded her fingers through Beau’s hair and kissed her. She whispered against her lips.

“You are so strong, Beauregard. All you need is to prove it to yourself.”

They held each other a while longer. Let all the venom bleed out. When there is nothing left, no guiding light, evoke the forms. From ruins and old pains build something new. Nurture it and watch it grow. Anoint it with kiss and gentle touch, this new ceremony, and breathe life upon it.

**Author's Note:**

> i not sure what came over me when i wrote this. a mixture of late-night inspiration and loneliness, i think. i initially began writing it a while back, but came back and finished it after episode 46. yasha's backstory and ashley's delivery had me in tears.
> 
> (also, can you tell ive been reading a lot of Cormac McCarthy recently?)
> 
> anyways, here's this. i hope you enjoy. kudos, comments and criticism are always appreciated :)
> 
> much love <3


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